The Chaos Curse by R. A. Salvatore Read Free Book Online Page A

Rufo’s exposed wrist. He would have to steal the blood, he decided, every drop of it!
    Berdole lined the needle’s point up with the vein in Rufo’s skinny wrist and angled the instrument for a good puncture. He took another deep breath, looked to Curl’s back for support, then started to push.
    The cold, pallid hand snapped around in a circular motion, catching the needle and Berdole’s hand in a crushing grasp.
    “What?” the muscular priest stammered.
    Curt turned about to see Berdole hunched low at the slab, both his strong hands wrapped around Rufo’s thin forearm, with Rufo’s clawlike digits clasping tightly to his lower jaw. This was Berdole the Brutal, the strongest of the strong Oghman’s. This was Berdole the Brutal, two hundred and fifty pounds of power, a man who could wrestle a black bear to a standstill!
    Yet that skinny arm of Kierkan Rufo-of dead Kierkan Rufo!-jerked Berdole down to the slab as though his muscular frame were no more than a wet towel. Then, to Curt’s disbelieving eyes, Rufo’s hand pushed up and back. The muscles in Berdole’s thick arms strained to their limits, but could not halt the push. Up and over went his chin-it sounded to Curt like the cracking of a large tree right before it tumbled to the ground-and suddenly, the surprised Berdole was staring at the world upside down and backwards.
    The Oghman’s strong hands let go of the skinny, pallid arm and twitched uncontrollably in the empty air. Rufo’s fingers loosened, and Berdole fell backward to the floor, quite dead.
    Curt hardly remembered to breathe. He looked from Berdole to the shrouded corpse, and his vision blurred with dizziness wrought of horror as Rufo slowly sat up.
    The shroud fell away, and the gaunt, pale man turned his eyes, eyes that simmered red with inner fires, toward Curt.
    Druzil clapped his clawed hands together and squealed in happiness, then flapped off for the door.
    Curt screamed and fled with all speed, five long strides bringing him near the sunlight, near salvation.
    Rufo waved a hand, and the heavy stone door swung shut, slamming with a bang that sounded like a drum of doom. The Oghman threw all his weight against the door, but he might as well have tried to move a mountain. He scratched at the stone until his fingers bled. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Rufo was up, walking stiffly toward him.
    Curt cried out repeatedly and went for the window, but realized that he had no time. He fell beyond it, backing and watching the corpse, crying for mercy and for Oghma to be with him.
    Then the side wall was against his back; he had nowhere to run. Curt caught his breath finally, and remembered who he was. He presented his holy symbol, a scroll of silver on a chain about his neck, and called to Oghma.
    “Be gone!” Curt cried at Rufo. “In the name of Oghma, evil undead thing, get you back!”
    Rufo didn’t flinch. He was ten steps away. Nine steps away. He staggered suddenly as he crossed in front of the window, as though he had been burned on the side. But the light was meager, and the monster passed beyond it.
    Curt began a frantic chant of a spell. He felt strangely disconnected from his god, though, as if Rufo’s mere presence had despoiled this place. Still he chanted, summoning his powers.
    He felt a sting in his lower back and jerked suddenly, his spell disrupted. He turned to see the bat-winged imp, snickering wickedly as it flew away,
    “What horror is this?” Curt cried. Rufo was there then, and the terrified man swung his lantern out at the monster.
    Rufo caught him by the wrist and easily held the makeshift weapon at bay. Curt punched out with his other hand, connecting solidly on Rufo’s chin, knocking Rufo’s head to the side.
    Rufo calmly turned back to him. Curt made to punch again, but Rufo hooked his arm under the man’s, brought his skinny fingers around Curt’s back, and grabbed the man’s hair on the opposite side of his head. With terrifying strength,